


Hope, Found

by TempestHale



Series: Pandora's Box [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), College | University Student Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Everyone Does Therapy, Everyone Has Issues, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Healthy Relationships, Luke's Trial, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Tattoo Artist Aziraphale (Good Omens), Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29202858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestHale/pseuds/TempestHale
Summary: After the cataclysmic end of his relationship with Luke, Crowley is slowly rebuilding his life--a life that includes a certain blond tattoo artist. He wants to put the past behind him, but when he gets a subpoena for Luke's trial, his future gets put on hold.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Pandora's Box [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752301
Comments: 16
Kudos: 24





	1. Daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> I'm BACK! I have had bits and pieces of this written for ages, and struggled so hard to get them all in order and connected. Infinite thanks to my bff and soul sister, [Carlot_Saint_Luther](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carlot_Saint_Luther/pseuds/Carlot_Saint_Luther) who has helped me format, spell-check, and move pieces of this jumbled mess around until it made a story.  
> If you're a fan of Lucifer (TV Series), check out her stuff - it's fantastic!

“To girls’ night!”

“Girls’ night!”

Crowley lifted his glass and toasted with Anathema, Lilith and Sammy. After the redhead had started his classes in the spring term, the four had reinstituted weekly meetings, though they had moved the location to a pub near Lilith and Sammy’s house.

“And—and!” Lilith held up her hand to stop the group from imbibing prematurely. “And to our cuervito! We are so proud of how hard you are working, baby boy!” She beamed at Crowley, which just made the redhead blush.

“Staaahp Lil,” he complained weakly, still smiling. “Besides, wait until I’ve taken my first round of midterms before you decide you’re proud. Might be rubbish.”

Sammy shook her head. “No negative self talk—remember girls’ night rules!”

“Aye, ma’am!” Crowley laughed, finishing his beer. He and Anathema were up next for karaoke.

* * *

“Welcome back, Crowley!” Gabe said loudly from his work stool. A short-haired client nodded and smiled from the chair. They had extensive work on both arms, to which Gabe looked to be adding a large desert scene.

Crowley waved, hiding behind his longer fringe. His hair was growing out from where he’d chopped it off, and he still missed being able to obscure his face with his hair when he needed it. 

“What’s with the shades?” Gabe boomed.

“Is that any of your business, Gabriel?” Azi walked out from the back, cane in one hand, sketchbook in the other. He raised the sketchbook in greeting to Crowley, who waved back.

“Hm… guess not,” the tall brunet shrugged, turning to sit at his station. “Sorry, my man. Didn’t mean to be a dick.” 

“No problem,” Crowley smiled. Gabe was a good guy--just loud. In your face. 

Azi led Crowley to his station, and sat carefully on his stool. He flipped through pages of the sketchbook while Crowley took his place across from him. The redhead pointed at Azi’s leg.

“Your knee bothering you?” Crowley asked. He kept his speech short. Though his therapist was mighty pleased with his progress, tripping over simple sounds stung. Sibilants he still struggled with especially, but only when he got excited. 

“And my hip. But I’m fine dear boy, don’t worry about me. How are you feeling? Your speech sounds much improved,” Azi reassured him.

“Mostly better. Sibilants are a bitch sssometimes,” Crowley complained when his tongue twisted to prove his point. “My eyes look fucked.”

“How is your vision? Has it cleared up?”

“Yeah, vision’s fine. Just the way they look bothers me,” he paused to look at Azi. Even through his sunglasses, the blond glowed, hair a fluffy halo around his cherubic face. He was so beautiful, it had been hard to look at him before. But now…

“Sssso ugly,” he finished, shaking his hair into his eyes again.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry you feel that way,” Azi said. Crowley knew how pathetic he sounded. The platitudes seemed never-ending, but at least Azi didn’t bother with the bullshit. How could he be so perfectly understanding?

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not right now. Thanks.”

“Perfectly fine, my dear. Would you like to look at the design we talked about?” 

Crowley nodded. Azi turned the sketchbook to face the redhead. The design was composed predominantly of flowers: [daffodils](https://www.terrafolia.ca/en/flower-dictionary.html#daffodil), [edelweiss](https://blogs.transparent.com/german/the-edelweiss-and-its-meaning/#:~:text=The%20word%20Edelweiss%20literally%20translates,survived%20the%20harshest%20of%20winters.), [chamomile](https://www.littleflowerhut.com.sg/flower-guide/all-about-chamomile-matricaria-recutita-history-meaning-facts-care-more/#:~:text=When%20it%20comes%20to%20floral,The%20plant%20represents%20humility.&text=Chamomile%20plants%20are%20a%20symbol,in%20the%20late%2019th%20century.), and a sprig of [thyme](https://www.thespruce.com/herb-meanings-in-love-and-romance-1761964). The bouquet took his breath away, even just seeing the bare outline of it, he knew it would cover the… brand… on his chest, giving him a blank slate. Or as close as someone like him could get.

Azi got his station ready, and Crowley worked off his shirt, avoiding looking at his left pec as he had done for the last six weeks. The blond shaved Crowley’s chest again, then applied the new stencil. Using a few different colours of sharpies, the artist added lines and filigree to the design, then handed the redhead a mirror so he could see the preliminary design in pride of place on his chest. 

“I love it.”

“Excellent. Just lie back then, and we will get started, my dear boy.” Azi tilted the chair back and Crowley closed his eyes behind his sunglasses.

Once the needle kicked on, the blond chattered away, a pleasant buzzing in the back of the redhead’s brain that allowed him to relax. For the first time since he walked into the shop, Crowley stopped beating himself up. 

Stopped worrying about his eyes.

Stopped caring about how he talked.

Stopped fretting about his stupid hair.

_It’s just me and the pain. But I’m in control of the pain. I chose this. I say ‘stop’ and this ends._

* * *

“Well that’s the outline finished, my dear. Are you up for doing some shading as well?” Azi wiped the area, handing Crowley a mirror so he could see the progress. The redhead blinked, coming out of his daze. He nodded to continue, then lay his head back, eyes closed behind his glasses. 

Crowley was dealing with a much more pressing problem than the pain of the tattoo gun. He had his shirt balled up in his lap, his fists white-knuckled in the fabric. Underneath, his cock pushed against the zipper of his denims, and he prayed to Someone that Azi wouldn’t notice. 

The first time Crowley had been in, his nerves had prevented him from really noticing the pain—or his reaction to it. But now he knew what to expect, and…

He was free.

No longer tied to Luke, Crowley was free to enjoy Azi’s kindness, his angelic face, and engaging conversation. Or, in this case, the blond’s calming chatter. The stinging pain-pleasure of the tattoo gun was a nice bonus, though he hadn’t quite counted on having such a noticeable reaction in the shop.

_As long as Azi doesn’t notice, I’ll be fine._

“Are you alright, Crowley?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He opened one eye to look at the artist. Azi looked back at his face, not his crotch, so he held onto his tiny thread of hope. Hope that he could maintain just one single iota of his dignity. 

In front of the one person he really wanted to impress.

“Er, not to argue, but you’re holding your shirt quite tightly. Are you in a lot of pain? We can stop here and make an appointment for a few weeks out—“

“No!” Crowley shouted. “Sssorry. Sssoorry. For ssshouting. But I want to keep going,” his face flamed red, shame from his inability to speak and his desires combined.

Azi spoke quietly for the next part. “We can do that. Keep—keep going, I mean. But, before I start again, I just want you to know, it’s perfectly fine. Perfectly normal.”

Crowley openly stared at the artist now. The blond’s cheeks were flushed, but he just stared at the cushion next to Crowley’s face, not quite able to meet his eyes. 

“I’m sssorry,” Crowley whispered. “I’m ssssooo…” 

“Please, no. Don’t apologise. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Azi fell over himself backtracking.

“No. You’re right,” Crowley couldn’t stand the blond doubting himself. “I-- I--” He shook his head. “I really like you,” Crowley lifted a hand and removed his glasses.

“You don’t have to do that dear,” Azi started, gasping when he saw Crowley’s eyes. The irises were still the same honey colour, almost gold in the right light, but now the pupils stretched irregularly across the iris. _Colomboma_ , the doctors said. _Trauma from the impact._ He looked like a monster, something out of a children’s story meant to scare the little goblins into behaving. _Who could possibly look at you and love you?_

But he couldn’t lie. Not to Azi.

“Oh, Crowley. Your eyes are beautiful.” As if pulled by a rope, the blond snapped out of his trance. “I think we need to wrap up this session. Now.” The artist dug through his drawers, removing tape, cling wrap and ointment before turning back to the redhead. He cleaned his chest again, applied ointment, then covered the fresh ink with cling wrap, sticking down with the tape. 

“There, now we can talk. Openly. Since you’re officially not my client now.” Understanding dawned on Crowley’s face, and he nodded. “You can put your shirt on too, if it makes you more comfortable.” Crowley did, and sat up to face the blond, faces scant inches away.

“Now where were we? Ah, I believe I was about to return your affections,” Azi smiled gently. “I like you as well, Crowley. Talking with you these past few weeks has been heavenly, and I would love nothing more than to pursue a relationship with you.”

“Really?”

“I just said so.” 

Crowley continued to stare at the man he had begun to think of as his saviour, his _angel_ , in disbelief. _How could anyone want to be with me?_

“Why?” he blurted.

Azi frowned then, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Why ever not?” Then he rattled off his list, as if he had been preparing for this moment. Knew that Crowley’s insecurities would try to throw them off course. Well, the blond was having none of it.

“You’re strong. So strong, Crowley. Brave, as well. And you’re ambitious, but kind as well. You’re truly a good person. Beyond that, you seem to care about me, which is pretty important on my ‘list of things in a potential partner.’ I’m selfish like that. But given all of this, why wouldn’t I want a relationship with you?”

“I’m bro—Broken,” Crowley managed, still meeting the blond’s eye. He’d give anything to have his long hair back for just one second of reprieve from the soul-searing stare Azi was giving him.

“And?”

“What?”

“You’re broken, and? So what? So aren’t we all? You’re considering dating a twenty-seven-year-old pot-smoking cripple covered in tattoos,” Azi shrugged one shoulder and pointed to his cane. “Just because you’ve been hurt—and I am not downplaying what you’ve been through, at all. Please don’t—“ Crowley stopped this tangent with a shake of his head. “But just because you’ve been through shit, doesn’t mean you aren’t deserving of love. Of joy.”

“Can I kiss you?” Crowley asked.

“Has your doctor cleared that yet?”

Crowley scowled, then leaned forward. Azi met him in the middle where they shared a soft press of lips. He rested his forehead against the blond’s, breaths mingling as they savoured the high of their first kiss.

“Can I see the rest of your tattoos now too?” Crowley breathed into the artist’s ear, pulling back with a cheeky smile.

“At least take a man to dinner, first, Crowley!” Azi teased, but reached for his cane to get up. He offered his free arm to Crowley, who took it, but didn’t quite understand where they were going. He decided to relish the feel of Azi’s side pressed against his for as long as he was allowed, and walked out of the back with him.

Gabe sat at his station, hunched over the person getting extensive work done on their right arm. The cacti in the desert scene were coming along very nicely from what Crowley could see.

“Gabe, I’m going out for the evening. I don’t think I have any other appointments, but could you finish cleaning up my station? I’ll owe you one,” the blond said, grabbing his jacket. Then he turned to Crowley.

“Come, dear. Let’s go buy me dinner.” 

* * *

During the date, Crowley swerved wildly between putting his foot in his mouth and just forgetting words altogether. He wanted to sound suave, intelligent. He was attending law school for Someone’s sake! But instead every word from his mouth just proved again how he was unworthy of this earthbound angel.

“How--how was your day?” Fuck! Why wouldn’t the earth just swallow him whole already? They hadn’t even ordered drinks yet, and already he had made a fool of himself. He had been with Azi for the better part of 3 hours now— _how was your day?_ He mentally face-palmed.

“It was looking rather glum until you came in, dear boy,” the blond started. Crowley perked up, relieved that his gaff seemed to have gone unnoticed. “As I mentioned earlier, my hips and knees are bothering me today, and have been since I woke up. Usually when I have this kind of pain, I cancel my appointments for the day.” 

At this point the server came by to get their drink orders, and they had a quick discussion about appetisers and wine pairings before making a decision.

“Why didn’t you just cancel today? You know I wouldn’t have minded,” Crowley asked, back to the topic of Azi’s pain, extremely concerned, but also understanding that Azi, as a grown man, could take care of himself.

“I know, dear, but I had already cancelled my early appointment once before and, well, to be honest? I felt too guilty to do it again. And once I’ve made it down to the shop, I can usually make it through the day. And I’m quite glad I persevered—I couldn’t be happier to be right where I am, Crowley.” The blond beamed, and Crowley melted. 

“Oh, and here comes our charcuterie! And it looks scrummy!” Azi wiggled in his seat, Crowley looking on in pure adoration. _He loves food so much, and he doesn’t care who sees. He’s so fucking perfect._

The charcuterie board included aged manchego, peppered salami, dried currants, and buttery crackers. A small dish of honey and chopped pistachios sat to one side, with a small spoon for drizzling over the other delectables. They had decided to pair the appetiser with a Cabernet Sauvignon, the bold flavours playing off each other, as they each sampled all the goodies on the board.

“This was a great idea, Azi,” Crowley stated after two crackers piled with a modest amount of meat and cheese, and three dried currants. The redhead took a sip from his wine, and leaned back in his chair to watch the blond eat.

“What’re you doing, dear?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s so much more food! Eat up!” Azi genstured to the half-full charcuterie board, then looked at Crowley as if to say “go on, then!”

“Oh, I don’t want to spoil my dinner,” Crowley glanced away, not quite able to meet the blond’s eyes. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all.

“Crowley. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but please know—I’m not going to judge you for how much or how little you eat. I just want you to enjoy yourself. I hope I didn’t make you feel put upon…” he trailed off.

“You didn’t. I just—“ Crowley made certain to look at the blond for this part. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it just now, but I am okay. And thank you. You always know just what to say.”

“Oh!” Azi blushed. “Thank you for the compliment, my dear, but I can assure you, I put my foot in it just as often as everyone else.”

“Aha! So you are human?” Crowley teased.

“As opposed to what?”

“An angel, obviously.”

“ _Obviously,_ ” Azi mocked, tone softened by his gentle smile. He started to say something else, then shut his mouth, noticing Crowley’s gaze shift to just over his shoulder. The blond turned to see their server waiting patiently for the pair to come to a stopping place in their conversation.

“So sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. Are we ready to order entrees, or do you need a few more minutes?”

They put in their orders for dinner: Azi chose lobster-filled [ cappelletti ](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGlZjlBh_XU/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) with a lemon cream sauce, while Crowley, emboldened by the angel’s reassurance to eat as much and _whatever_ he wanted, chose a [ ramen-pasta ](https://www.instagram.com/p/B-nri1KhquO/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) fusion dish. It even had an egg on it!

As the server walked away, Crowley couldn’t help but want to justify his choice.

“I know it’s not traditional Italian fare, but it just looked so good. I haven’t had ramen in forever and seeing it on the menu set off a craving. Does that ever happen to you? Do you like Japanese food?”

“ _Hai!_ I love Japanese food. Sushi is my favourite, but ramen is its own artform as well! Did you know…” Crowley rested his cheek on his hand, elbow on the table, watching Azi’s lips as he explained the intricate history of noodle making.

“How did you start tattooing?--sounds to me like you could’ve had a career in the culinary arts, angel. Or as a history professor,” Crowley interrupted. Azi didn’t look upset, but rather curious at the change in subject, eyes wide and clear.

“How I started tattooing? That’s quite a long story, dear boy,” he said. “Are you sure you have time?” the blond laughed.

“I have all night, angel.”


	2. Fever Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azi's diagnosis. If hospitals or doctors squick you out, you might want to skip this one (it's not graphic, but I know that those experiences can be highly traumatic). There is a summary in the end notes in case you need/want to skip this one.  
> Remember, always be kind to yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very loosely based on my own experience of being diagnosed with RA (I say very loosely because it actually took me about 6 years to get diagnosed, and my current rheumatologist still calls my condition "polyarthralgia of multiple joints" while treating me with the same meds for any RA patient....)  
> Anywho, if your experience with chronic pain differs wildly, please just know -- YOU ARE VALID! Everyone has a different experience, and Azi's is... well, fiction.
> 
> Also, this chapter is told mostly from Azi's point of view. This story will go back and forth between the two, but I will try to make it as clear as possible when there is a change.

By the second semester of uni, Azi struggled to make it to most of his classes. His body ached all the time, and he was just so  _ tired _ . Finally, his roommate, Lilith, had dragged him to the campus health center, but the doctor there had found nothing wrong with him. They suggested vitamins and exercise, to which Azi rolled his eyes - how was he supposed to exercise when he was too exhausted to get out of bed to even eat?

Shortly before midterms, Azi rang up Gabe to let him know he was struggling. While the brothers texted nearly daily, they hadn’t had a face-to-face conversation since the winter holidays.

“Sunshine! What’s up?”

“I’m not doing well, Gabe.”

“Well yeah! It’s London in the winter—you’ve gotten your late February cold, I take it?” It was mid morning in London, but evening in the States, and Azi was treated to watching his brother eat dinner. “You should have more antioxidants and vitamin D in your diet,” the elder said around a mouthful, “It’ll boost your immune system.”

“Are you a doctor, now, Gabriel? I thought you were studying business.” Azi only used his brother’s full name when he was upset with him.

“Whoa, calm down  _ Aziraphale _ . What’s got your pants in twist?”

“I’m sorry. I just saw the doctor here on campus and he said basically the same thing. But I’m sleeping twenty hours a day—I’m exhausted! I can barely get out of bed to eat, to use the loo,” Azi explained.

“Do you need me to come out there?” Gabe offered.

“No. No. I’m sure you’re right. It’s just a cold and I’ll be back to myself in no time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yes. I’ll be sure to pick up some vitamins at the pharmacy this week.”

“Okay. Call me if you change your mind about me coming out. You’re more important to me than some piece of paper.”

“It’s a rather expensive piece of paper, Gabe.”

“True.”

They slipped back into their usual back and forth until Gabe had to leave for a study group. Azi decided on a midday nap, and woke up having missed his afternoon class. He typed up a quick email to his professor, nauseated with guilt as he lied and wrote that he had come down with a cold, but expected to be back to class next week.

* * *

Azi pushed through his second semester, and by spring time was generally feeling better. The warmer weather and sunshine seemed to soak down into his bones, and there was a spring in his step as he made his way to Islamic Civilizations class. Even the fact that the professor didn’t seem to like him couldn’t phase him today. Besides, was it really his fault he caught the flu twice? He’d had the vaccine for goodness sake!

The blond walked into the large classroom, and took a seat. He chose a spot in the center of the lefthand bank of lower seats. He took a few moments to get out his notes and pens, when he noticed he was sweating. As Azi peeled off his jacket, he wondered if the facilities had left the heat on in the buildings a bit too long, missing the change from winter to spring by about a week.

The class filled in over the next few minutes, and when the professor started the lecture, most of the seats were full. Azi dutifully listened and took notes in his meticulous handwriting, pausing only to wipe sweat from his brow. He glanced around at the other students: was everyone suffering like he was?

Not a soul looked to be even mildly uncomfortable.

Azi reached under the long table that served as a desk for students, into his bag. No water bottle.  _ Damn. _ He was going to have to skip out on a portion of the lecture if he wanted to get water from the fountain just outside the lecture hall.

Realizing his diversion had caused him to miss a vital date mentioned in the notes, Azi leaned slightly toward his neighbour to peak at their notes. After five seconds of trying to decipher the other student’s writing, he gave it up and just tried to focus on the lecture again.

_ Did the professor switch to Arabic?  _ Azi tried to remember if Arabic language was a prerequisite for this course.

_ It can’t be. It’s a freshman course. They can’t require two years of a foreign language for a freshman course. _

_ Can they? _

The blond freshman had completely disengaged from the lecture, and his neighbours were scooting away from him as he mumbled to himself. They glared at him, assuming he was hungover, when he fell over sideways, out of his chair and hitting the floor with a thump.

But when Azi made no move to get up at all, a girl sitting behind him screamed, and the hall erupted into chaos.

A dozen students whipped out their mobiles to dial 999; three more girls started screaming and trying to flee the room; when the masses saw people running, everyone stampeded toward the door. The professor, who hadn’t seen Azi fall, recognised that her class was over, and started packing up her things.

Azi came to as the paramedics strapped him onto a gurney.

“Where am I?”

“Welcome back to the land of the living! Can you tell us your name?”

“Why can’t I move my head?”

“That’ll be the neck brace, sir. Can you tell me your name?”

“Azi—Aziraphale Fell.”

“Good, and how old are you?”

“Nineteen. What happened?”

“You had a fall, sir. Do you remember?” He tried to shake his head, but was stopped by the brace again. He answered verbally, then the faceless paramedic yelled to someone else Azi couldn’t see. He could only look at the cheap tiled ceiling of this lecture hall. 

Which looked remarkably similar to the ceiling of A&E, where Azi waited for what felt like hours. Free of gurney, but not of the neck brace (“That stays on until we’ve done scans. Make sure nothing’s broken!”), he stared uselessly at the ceiling and listened to the commotion outside. Finally he heard footsteps coming toward him and the curtain being pulled back. 

“Mr. Fell, looks like you had a fall,” a woman said from the end of the bed.

“I hate to be rude, but could someone  _ please _ let me out of this damn brace? I can’t see who I’m talking to or vice versa and I’m about to go spare!”

The bed underneath him started to move suddenly and he grabbed onto the sidebars to steady himself. But after a few moments, just the head had been raised so that he could see his visitor without moving his head.

“Better?” asked the doctor, her white coat signifying her as such. 

“Yes, thank you. And yes. I’m informed I fainted in the middle of a lecture. Caused quite a scene.”

“You don’t remember losing consciousness?”

“Not really. I remember feeling really warm, sweaty. Like they had left the heat on in the building. Then I was taking notes, and then…” the blond gestured vaguely.

“Okay then. We want to get you out of the brace as soon as possible, so let’s send you down to radiology first, then I want to get some blood.”

* * *

The next morning, Azi woke up in a hospital room, as they still hadn’t figured out what caused him to faint, but his blood work suggested he had an underlying infection, and they had started him on an antibiotics course that absolutely wrecked his GI tract. 

The doctor had been about to release him when Azi started vomiting, and he hadn’t stopped, not even on antiemetics. So now he was hooked up to an IV drip as well to keep him hydrated.

Azi looked at the IV in his arm and turned away in disgust. This would never happen to Gabe.

_ First born. _

_ Strong. _

_ Alpha male. _

All the things that Azi would never be. Wherever their parents were, he could feel their pity, and he didn’t fucking want it. He would be fine and go back to his room like none of this ever happened. He would show everyone that he was strong enough to do this on his own.

But then he rolled his head to the cool side of his lumpy hospital pillow (slowly, so so slowly, as to not get dizzy and start vomiting again). When he finally managed it, he saw Gabe himself. 

The older brother’s large frame was slumped into an entirely uncomfortable position in the visitor's chair, and yet he snored like a chainsaw. 

_ Who had called him? _

_ Had he taken a red-eye to get here? _

_ What time is it anyway? _

Apparently, the last question was aloud, and Gabe startled out of his slumber with a snort. Azi wanted to roll his eyes, but stopped just in time to keep from making himself sick.

“Azi! Oh my god, you’re awake! Let me go get the doctor!”

“Gabe, Gabe. Gabe! Slow down,” the blond demanded, nearly shouting from his immobile position. “The doctor will come now that they’ve heard your yelling--how are you here?”

“Lilith called me! She’s your emergency contact through the university, and she called me. I was on the first flight out,” the brunet explained. “All they knew was that you collapsed during a class and were headed to A&E--after that I was in the air. What happened?”

“They aren’t sure. I guess I have some sort of infection,” Azi’s voice lifted at the end in question. The medical staff hadn’t told him much else about that. “They put me on antibiotics and were about to send me home, but then I started vomiting and couldn’t stop, so they admitted me and hooked me up to the IV.”

“They’ve run tests?”

“Of course they’ve run tests, Gabe. I’ve had more blood taken in the past twenty-four hours… I’m surprised I have any left, honestly.” Azi closed his eyes, exhausted already.

“You rest, Sunshine. I’m going to go talk to the doc.”

* * *

“We ran some more extensive blood tests, and you have rheumatoid arthritis,” the doctor stated, not looking up from the chart. “Turns out that was the cause of your elevated SED and CRP levels, not an infection. So we’ve stopped the antibiotics, and you should be feeling better soon. Once you can keep down some food, you should be able to go home.”

“Wait. I have arthritis?”

“Rheumatoid arthritis.”

“What is that?”

“Here’s a pamphlet of information--the rheumatologist will be by within the hour to discuss treatment options.” And the doctor left the room without another word.

Azi looked at Gabe, eyes wide and shining with tears. Gabe stared back at him, equally shaken, which just terrified the younger brother more. His older brother was  _ never _ scared,  _ never unsure _ . And now he just looked lost.

They stared at each other until Azi remembered the  [ pamphlet ](https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/rheumatoid-arthritis/symptoms-causes/syc-20353648) in his hand, and began reading. Words like  _ autoimmune, joint deformity, flares _ jumped out from the glossy paper and his hand began to shake. Gabe reached out and gently took the pamphlet from him.

_ I’m only nineteen. Just turned nineteen in March! I can’t have arthritis. That’s an old man’s disease. _

_ Oh God… what am I going to do? _

Just as Azi started spiraling into a full blown panic attack, the rheumatologist walked in. Gabe grabbed his brother’s hand, grounding both of them.

The rheumatologist was patient and kind, explaining what the hospital doctor hadn’t. Azi’s immune system was attacking his joints, which was causing his fevers as well, and without medication, he would likely continue to end up in hospital. However, with medication, he could live a pretty normal life.

“Now, you have to be aware that high-impact sports are going to be off the table from now on, unless very closely monitored by a doctor.”

Gabe and Azi glanced at each other before bursting into laughter. 

“That’s not going to be a problem,” they said in unison.

“The rheumatologist smiled. “Okay. Well, let’s discuss treatment. Since your RA is pretty severe right now, we really want to get those inflammation markers down as much as possible. I would suggest we start on both an immunosuppressant -- methotrexate -- and a biologic such as  [ Adalimumab ](https://www.webmd.com/drugs/2/drug-64712/adalimumab+subcutaneous/details) to help prevent any damage to your joints.”

“What are the side effects of methotrexate and … that other thing you said?” Gabe asked, thankfully filling in the gaps where Azi was still too overwhelmed to concentrate. To really focus on anything other than a future filled with doctor’s appointments and pills, apparently.

“Methotrexate can have some nasty side effects, I’m afraid,” said the rheumatologist. “Loss of appetite, nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, sores in the mouth and nose, loss of hair. We’ll have you take folic acid as well, to help prevent the worst of it.”

“Folic acid?” Azi temporarily came out of his daze. “Aren’t those antenatal vitamins?”

“They are part of the normal antenatal regimen, yes. But folic acid helps strengthen hair, nails and the skin which can counteract the methotrexate’s side effects.” The brothers nodded along with the rheumatologist, Azi wishing he was able to take notes on the encounter. “As for adalimumab--the brand name is Humira--it’s been on the market for years and is extremely well tolerated. Most commonly, patients have swelling or redness around the injection site--”

“It’s an injection?” Azi wasn’t phobic of needles like he knew many people were, but he certainly didn’t want to sign up for regular injections. This stay in hospital had been enough needles for one lifetime, thanks.

“Yes.”

“Do I have to go to the doctor to get it? How often do I have to go?” Azi asked, still hoping that maybe the doctor would offer an alternative. Pills. Pills he could handle.

“No, no. You inject the medication yourself. Once every two weeks. We will teach you how to do it.” The rheumatologist started to get up, then sat back down. “Oh! And remember, these medications are designed to suppress your immune system, so we need to make sure you’re up to date on all vaccinations, and test you for TB before you can start. And until you’re adjusted, it would be advisable to take it easy. We will provide documentation for your classes so you can get an incomplete or withdraw--whichever you prefer.”

Azi sat agog, trying to take in all the information. His entire life was being turned upside down and they wanted him to make decisions? He just wanted to lie down.

Gabe sensed his brother’s distress and took over the arrangements and paperwork. By the time the rheumatologist left, it was nearly time for dinner. When the younger brother managed to keep the food down for a few hours, he was discharged and Gabe drove him to the small flat he shared with Lilith.

* * *

* * *

“And then Gabe arranged with all his professors to finish his courses online--he was only two months from graduation and in very good academic standing, of course--so he could take care of me while I got used to everything.

“Those first few months of meds were awful; I ended up in hospital again because of the vomiting from the methotrexate, but antiemetics and a saline drip sorted me out. I ended up withdrawing from my courses--my grades were atrocious at that point anyway. I had gotten rather depressed about the whole thing, and thought I would never amount to anything.

“Then Gabe comes up with one of his brilliant ideas one night while we are out at the pub. Which at that point was still rather miserable for me, because I wasn’t to be mixing alcohol with my medications, and could only sip on water or soft drinks while everyone else had a good time. Anyway, he says he wants to open a tattoo shop! Out of nowhere! I ask him  _ what does he know about tattooing, _ and he says ‘Nothing!’

"But he made it work, hired the right people, found the right location and within about a half a year he had a tidy little business. I spent most of my time there, since I wasn’t going to school anymore, and wanted to feel useful. I swept up, stocked cabinets, greeted clients, that sort of thing.

"Eventually, I got curious, as did Gabe, about the whole tattooing process. The lead tattoo artist we hired offered to teach us and we just… fell into it.” Azi laughed at his own joke, and Crowley let out a snort. The redhead clapped a hand over his mouth and nose.

“That was a terrible pun, angel. On so many levels.”

“Oh, but terrible puns are the best kind! Did you know that in Japan, puns are called…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Azi falls ill during his second semester of uni. He gets diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis, and Gabe moves from the US back to London to take care of his brother. Gabriel then opens a tattoo shop, and we basically know the rest!


	3. Dinner and a Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finally gets to see all of Azi's tattoos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azi and Crowley end their date at Azi's place, and Azi shows off his artwork (which, if I've done my job, matches to what I wrote in Hope, Abandoned--fingers crossed).  
> A bit of kissing, then a fun fantasy scene.  
> We end with Crowley talking to his therapist - a character borrowed from [Carlot_Saint_Luther's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carlot_Saint_Luther) story [You Should Have Led With Dick Jokes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28723602/chapters/70426014).
> 
> Enjoy!

After dinner, which Azi insisted on paying for (“I invited you, so I will pay. You can pay next time, dear boy.”) Crowley offered to get an Uber to take them back to the shop.

“Don’t want to tire you out,” he pointed to Azi’s lower half. Then felt blood rush to his face, realizing the innuendo he had just made. The redhead made to explain, but was cut off by the blond. 

“Thank you. My hip is getting rather fatigued. I think a lift would be best.” The blond smirked, “But tell me, should we go back to mine or yours, dear boy?”

“Ngk. Yours. I guess,” Crowley choked out. He had forgotten all about the reason they had originally gone to dinner. The redhead was so happy just to share a meal with the blond. With how vulnerable and open their conversation had been, the original purpose of the outing had flown from his mind. 

“As long as you’re still up to it, dear. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Azi reassured him.

“You’re the one who’s giving a show, sir.” Crowley smirked, full of false confidence. He had put his sunglasses back on when they left for the restaurant, but he locked eyes with the blond from behind the dark lenses. “And I still very much want to see.” This was 100% true.

“That sounds lovely. Let’s go then, shall we?” Azi offered his arm again upon standing, and they walked out together. Crowley slowed his pace to match the blond’s, and they only waited a moment for their ride. Inside the car, they didn’t talk, but Azi’s hand wrapped around his own spindly fingers, heat sinking into his skin. The redhead didn’t dare look at the blond, afraid to wake up from this perfect dream. 

* * *

The artist swung the door open and ushered Crowley inside the flat. The redhead took in the books piled on every flat surface--even the floor--and felt his heart swell even more. _Could he be any cuter?_

“Oh, dear,” the blond flustered. “I forgot it was such a mess in here. Do forgive me, my boy,” he finished in a rush, reaching to straighten a pile of books towering on a side table. “Please, have a seat.”

Crowley moved to the overstuffed sofa and splayed himself over most of it, forgetting his nerves in light of a comfortable basking spot. And he planned to bask in all of Azi’s glory. So long as he would let him.

“Would you like any tea? Or wine?”

“‘M’good, Azi. Sit down,” the redhead said, propping himself up on both arms to make room on the small sofa for the blond. Azi sat, hands folded in his lap, back ramrod straight. The blond’s eyes couldn’t meet his, focused instead on his fidgeting hands in his lap.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know,” Crowley reassured him, pushing himself to sit in a more upright position.

“Oh, it’s not tha—well, it is that a bit, too, I suppose. But rather, it’s that I realised just how long it’s been since I had anyone round the place,” Azi admitted, looking up finally. “I must say I’m quite nervous.”

“Azi,” Crowley started. “It’s fine to be nervous. Like, more than fine. We’ve been talking for a long time, but this is really a first date. I was sweating bullets all through dinner. But my butterflies have calmed down now, mostly. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Sit somewhere else maybe?” Crowley glanced around the small sitting room for options and spied an armchair with only a few volumes on the seat and made to move there. He was stopped by the blond’s hand on his arm.

“Crowley.”

The redhead sat back down, meeting the blond’s gaze. “Your face is saying you’re okay, but I’m gonna need you to say it. Can you do that?”

“I’m much better than okay, Crowley. Thank you.” Azi smiled at him and Crowley’s heart swelled again. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the redhead wondering would he ever stop falling for this man?

 _I hope not_.

“Now, angel, I believe you promised a show?” The blond laughed at him and began to unbutton his shirt. He seemed to have a penchant for button-down, collared shirts and khaki trousers which just clashed so painfully with Crowley’s first impression of what a tattoo artist should look like. But it was growing on him.

The blond removed his shirt, then his undershirt without much aplomb. Crowley gasped at the full glory of the skin on display. Not just because of Azi’s body, which had him drooling. Strong muscles barely hiding under a layer of soft flesh, all coated with fine, white-blond hairs that he so badly wanted to run his fingers through. _But the artwork_.

Crowley had had a sneak peak before, on his first visit to the shop, but this was something entirely different. 

The top of his left arm was wrapped in verse, flowing words surrounded with flowery filigree. The elbow held a blue eye that somehow glowed. And then his forearm was being hugged by an aggressive squid—a kraken, the blond had called it. It battled against waves and ships, cracking the latter in half with its massive tentacles.

His right arm was a more serene tale, but just as detailed, as gorgeous. The black and crimson serpent wound protectively around the forearm surrounded by watercolour leaves. Like a true Serpent of Eden, it’s eyes twinkled with mischief. Azi’s right bicep had a riot of color, flowers of every kind blossoming over his flesh. This led to, in comparison with the other artwork, an overly simplistic piece of line work on his chest. The thin black line, a suggestion of wings, and a promise of more spread across Azi’s wide chest, shoulder to shoulder.

 _Oh my actual Someone, his nipples are pierced,_ thought Crowley, somehow going even redder than before. _How did I not see that_ first?!

“I feel like a pervert,” he blurted, still thinking about the piercings. _Little gold hoops. I want to pull on them with my teeth—back up, back up._

“Oh, I should hope not,” Azi replied. “Please, feel free to ask any questions you like. Even though I wear long sleeves and collars most of the time, I’m not shy at all about my artwork.”

Crowley gulped. 

“Can—Can I see your back?” The sword was flaming like anything, in every colour of the rainbow. Flames liked up the blond’s spine, the spaces in between filled with feathers. Some floated gently down, others spiralled in smoky trails from his shoulders to the small of his back.

“It’s… there aren’t words, Azi. This piece--I can’t believe it’s all one piece!--it’s just awesome. In the most literal way.” Crowley reached out with a hand, then stopped. “Can I touch you?”

Azi nodded. Any confidence the redhead had felt before vanished in the glory of Azi’s back. Thd a finger lightly down the hilt of the sword, near the blond’s neck. Azi shivered at the touch, but stood stock still as Crowley finished tracing the edge of the sword down, down, down his spine, resting his warm palm at the base. He took a step closer to the blond, close enough now to feel the heat radiating from him. 

He held his breath.

Azi turned around to face him.

Crowley’s hand settled on his waist. 

“Can we kiss again?” Azi whispered.

Crowley nodded emphatically, and then his hands were in the blond’s hair-- _soft, so soft--_ and they were kissing. Azi pulled the redhead closer, one hand between Crowley’s shoulders and the other on his hip. Azi’s lips were plump, insistent; Crowley wanted to live in his warm embrace.

The redhead let his tongue slide across Azi’s lips, tasting the wine they had drunk with dinner. With a moan, Azi’s lips open and Crowley answered in kind. Their tongues tangled, heat between them rising, threatening to scorch them both. 

Crowley’s mind could only repeat a mantra of _he’s kissing me he’s kissing me_ until Azi grabbed Crowley’s arse, shutting down the redhead’s thoughts completely. 

The blond used his grip on Crowley to pull them flush together, touching from knee to chest. Crowley could feel the blond’s heart racing in tandem with his own—a beat echoed further south when he noticed Azi’s half-hard cock twitch against his thigh. 

Crowley was in a similar way, his own prick most definitely interested in the current proceedings, and he ground his pelvis against the blond’s, moaning into Azi’s mouth as he sought, and found, the loveliest friction.

Just then, Crowley.exe rebooted.

_Don’t fuck on you first date. Don’t fuck this up._

“We gotta stop, angel. We gotta stop. This is going--too--fast,” Crowley panted between kisses. He tried to pull away, but couldn’t keep his lips off the blond. Azi seemed to have the same problem. 

Would it be so bad to have sex on the first date? Crowley wanted this, whatever it was, to last. Azi was perfect--kind, patient, understanding, not to mention absolutely fucking gorgeous. An actual angel, put on earth. And what was Crowley? Just a skinny ginger with a metric shit-tonne of baggage? When would he get another opportunity like this?

Plus, Crowley could feel the outline of Azi’s cock through his trousers, and he wanted so badly to drop to his knees and worship the angel like he deserved. The redhead started shifting his hand to the blond’s fly.

“Crowley, Crowley. Stop,” Azi whispered as he took the tiniest step back. Crowley stopped trying to unbutton the blond’s trousers, but left his fingers tucked into the top of his waistband. “You said you wanted to slow down, dear boy. Let’s take a break, yes?”

Crowley whined in the back of his throat, and refused to let go of the blond, though they did each take a small step away. The air between them practically sparked with their unfulfilled desires.

“I changed my mind, angel. I want you. Now.”

“Let’s just take a moment. I don’t want us to make any hasty decisions.” Azi put a finger under Crowley’s chin, blue eyes meeting amber. “I know it’s early days, but I am very much invested in this,” he motioned between the two of them. “You were quite adamant that you wanted to slow down, and I’m okay with that. Let’s go at a pace that’s comfortable for both of us, yeah?”

Crowley whined again, but this time it was a noise of frustration and fondness. “Why are you so logical?” He sighed and leaned his forehead against the blond’s. “I want this, too, ya know? More than… more than I can even describe. It’s—“

“Ineffable.”

“Wot?”

“Ineffable. Beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words.”

“Hnnnggg. And so clever,” Crowley moaned. “Well, angel, if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to do something very _effable,_ so I guess this is ‘good night.’”

Azi laughed, all the tension leaving his frame as he pulled Crowley in for one last kiss.

* * *

Crowley sighed, leaning against his door as he took off his shoes and coat. His angel was the most tempting man he’d ever been with--forcing himself to take an Uber home had been the hardest (pun completely intended) thing he’d had to do in a long time. Now that he was home, free to give in to his desires, he headed straight for his bedroom, stripping off his clothes as he went.

The redhead flopped unceremoniously onto his bed, dick in hand. He was still half-hard from his make out session—closing his eyes, he fantasised that he had stayed, unbuckling Azi’s belt and unbuttoning his fly. Just that image was enough to bring him to full hardness again, and he scrambled in his bedside drawer for lube. 

_He would have lowered Azi’s trousers slowly, going to his knees as he did so. Then, looking up at his angel, he’d stroke him through his underwear. Was he a boxers or briefs kinda guy? Boxers,_ Crowley decided for his fantasy, _tartan ones. He would be able to feel Azi’s heat, the weight of him through the thin fabric. He’d press a kiss to the tip of the blond’s fat cock, just to hear that moan again._

 _Then he’d finally get rid of the boxers. Inch by glorious inch, he’d pull them off, revealing his beautiful angel._ Wait, would he be cut or uncut? All Crowley could tell from before was that he was _thick_ . Fuck it, this is his fantasy. _He’d take the angel’s cock in hand, stroking once, twice, then he’d wrap his lips around the tip, tonguing the foreskin._

_Then the scene would really start. Crowley would show off all his cock-sucking skills and make the angel sing. He’d take the blond down to the root, stroking his hands over those strong thighs. Then Azi would tangle his hands in his hair, a grounding warmth as he stared into his angel’s blue eyes._

In his bed, Crowley picked up the speed of his stroking, biting his lip to stifle his moans. His hand slid up and down his shaft, thumb circling the head. His other hand fondled his balls, tugging gently to stave off his impending orgasm. 

_Azi would be completely lost by now, fingers tightening in his hair, pulling. He’d talk to him, too. “You’re so gorgeous, Crowley. Your lips, your mouth is sin incarnate.” He would keen at the praise, blushing as he upped his efforts, giving Azi everything. “Crowley, Crowley, I’m going to come!”_

The redhead put a hand in his own hair, tugging harshly as he painted his chest and stomach. He panted as he came down from his high, blinking wetly at the ceiling. Post-orgasm clarity hit him like a freight train—he felt sick at the thought of being taken, being used. But had he really? It was his own fantasy after all. And he had been mostly in control—it wasn’t anything like with… Crowley didn’t even want to think his name. Especially not naked, covered in his own spend. 

After a quick shower, still turning over all the contradictions in his mind, Crowley finally lay down to sleep, putting a note in his phone to discuss the issue with his therapist in the morning.

* * *

“So I have a … sexual question.”

“Ah, so can I assume your new relationship is going well?” Dr. Joshua Carpenter countered.

“Yeah, yeah. Azi’s just… he’s everything I could ever want, ya know? He’s kind, and gorgeous and clever and… patient! We went to his place last night, and we were, erm… kissing. But I said we should take it slow and he just… said ‘okay.’ Just like that.” Crowley collapsed on the sofa dramatically. “He’s perfect.”

Josh chuckled quietly. “So what’s the question then?”

“So I go home, right. Avoiding temptation and all that.” The counselor nodded in understanding. “But, I’m still, erm, worked up, so I was taking care of myself—“

“You can just say masturbating, Crowley,” Josh said with a slight upward turn of his mouth, a knowing sparkle in his eye.

The man on the couch, in turn, blushed as read as his hair. He groaned, covering his face with both hands, “Uuugggghh, Josh, can you _not?!_ ” Crowley really liked his therapist, but sometimes the man was a little too sassy.

“Anyway, like I was saying… I had a fantasy and once I was done, it kinda bothered me. Is that…” he trailed off with a shrug.

“I believe that’s referred to as ‘post-nut clarity.’ And it’s pretty common. What we fantasise about and what we actually want are not always the same thing.”

“Did you just—nevermind. But this was… look, in my fantasy, I was sucking Azi off, and he was pulling my hair. Which is something…” Crowley took a deep, steadying breath before continuing, “something Luke used to do. And I always hated it. I usually blacked out; I don’t even remember half the times we had sex.”

Josh scribbled a couple of notes in his notebook, then looked back at his patient. “And you don’t want that to happen with Azi.”

“Exactly. But… I’m a gay man! How do you tell your partner—also a gay man—that you don’t want to, fuck it, _can’t_ give head? That’s like, Queer 101!”

“Azi stopped being physically intimate when you asked last night, did he not?” Josh pointed out.

“Erm, yeah.”

“Then what makes you think he wouldn’t be okay with you setting some boundaries? Think about what you might be comfortable doing, sexually, and what you wouldn’t. He sounds, from your description, that he would be very agreeable to that conversation.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I sound like an idiot.”

“Not an idiot, Crowley. You’ve been through some very big trauma, and you’re still doing the work to unpack all the mess that leaves behind. You’re doing an amazing job, but these kinds of stumbling blocks are not unexpected.” Crowley nodded, biting his lip. No matter how many times he heard it, he still hated thinking of his relationship with Luke as trauma—as if the moment he recognised it, then it would be real and all the work he’d done rebuilding his life would come crashing down around him.

“But when am I gonna get better, Josh? I don’t wanna be like this broken _thing_ forever,” the redhead whined.

“Azi has rheumatoid arthritis, yes?” The counselor asked. Crowley nodded, eyebrow raised in question. “Would you ask him when _he_ is going to get better? Would you call him ‘broken?’”

Crowley spluttered, flapping his hands in outrage at the very notion. “Of course not! He’s not broken! He’s amazing, and strong! Stronger than anyone I’ve ever met—dealing with the pain he has to live with on a daily basis…Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ I’d love to see you turn even a fraction of that compassion inward, Crowley. You really do deserve it.” And with that Josh closed his notebook, signaling that their time was up for the day.

“What, no homework doc?”

“I think I just gave you some, don’t you?”


	4. Sleepover Part 1: Lucy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Azi finally have their sleepover and take the next step in their physical relationship.  
> #soft #sofuckingsoft  
> Also, this shifts POV a bit, and I hope it’s not too confusing—the majority of this chapter is Crowley’s POV, except a short bit in the middle. Let me know if it works.  
> Thanks 🙏🏾 ❤️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all. I’m back!!! I will still be posting on Thursdays, but it will be every other week for a while—I am off my meds for a bit in order to get the COVID-19 vaccine (which I’m really grateful to be near the front of the line in my area). Being off my meds means my RA is just going full force while I wait for my second shot 😅  
> Thank you for your patience!

Over the next couple of weeks, things continued in much the same manner. Casual, but deeply satisfying dates that ended in aborted make out sessions, either Azi or Crowley summoning all their willpower to go home alone. Tonight, Azi had invited Crowley to his flat above the tattoo shop where they were hotboxing themselves in the small bathroom. Crowley was sitting against the back wall of the bathtub, Azi’s back pressed against his chest. The artist passed the joint to the redhead with a giggle.

“What’s funny?” Crowley asked, taking a deep inhale. His golden eyes were half-lidded in the haze. He looked at Azi, sliding further into the empty tub.  _ That can’t be good for your neck, angel. _

“I’m fiiiiiine,” Azi said, answering Crowley’s mental question. He probably said it aloud, Crowley realised. “I can’t believe I found a man, who will,” Azi made a vague gesture to indicate their current state, “with me.” 

Crowley passed the joint back to the blond. He wiggled his hips a bit to get more comfortable in the tub. He wasn’t one-hundred percent certain why they had both decided to get in, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. They were both fully clothed, except for shoes, and simply basking in each other’s presence. The simple ritual of passing a joint back and forth, sharing a close space, and being together felt far more intimate than any sex Crowley had ever had.

“Who wouldn't want to do this with you, angel? Don’t get me wrong, I love doing just about anything with you--but this is the tits! I don’t think I’ve ever felt this  _ close _ to somebody before.”

“I feel the same, Crowley. Just the same.” The blond head lolled a bit on his chest, and Crowley stretched his neck to peer down at Azi’s face. His eyes were closed, lashes fanned out across his pink cheeks, lips chapped and dry.  _ Cotton mouth,  _ Crowley thought. The redhead traced his fingers down the other man’s arm, following the line of the serpent. Wrapping his hand around the blond’s wrist, he used his grip to lift the hand, still loosely holding onto the joint, to his lips. After a couple of tokes, Crowley bussed a kiss to the hand and lowered it gently back to the lip of the tub.

“Snakes’re so misunderstood,” the redhead started. “All the way back to Eden. Ol’ chap was just doing his job.”

Azi chuckled lightly, vibrations rumbling through his body and into Crowley’s. “But it must’ve been a  _ bad _ thing, don’t you think? Since it was the devil and all?”

“But even the devil was an angel once, angel. Can angels do bad things? Surely not,” Crowley ran his left hand through white-blond curls. “You’d never do anything bad, would you?”

Azi found this hilarious, chuckles growing into guffaws. “I’d like to do bad things to you,” he barely managed to squeak out between gasping laughs. He had clearly been trying to deepen his smooth tenor to affect a faux-suave voice and accentuate the bad pick-up line, but it fell apart by the second syllable when he could barely breathe around his own laughter.

Crowley cracked. Gales of laughter ripped out of his mouth and he couldn’t stop. His ribs ached, lungs burned, and tears streamed down his face. By the time the pair calmed themselves, Azi had set the roach in the ashtray on the back of the toilet and was kneeling in front of Crowley looking serious.

“Uh-oh. That’s a serious face. Why serious face?” Crowley’s brain tried to catch up with the sudden atmosphere change in the room. It left him spinning, searching Azi’s face for clues, for what might be wrong.

_ What did I do? What did I do wrong? _

His heartbeat sped up, and his breathing sped up, and his vision narrowed.

* * *

“Crowley. Crowley?” Azi watched the redhead’s eyes grow wide, searching the room for… something… then suddenly blank, as he started breathing faster and faster.  _ Oh shit, he’s having a panic attack! _

Azi wanted to reach out, pull Crowley into his arms, but he also didn’t want to trigger him any further. Instead, he just talked to him gently, tried to get him to focus on his breathing.

“Breathe with me, Crowley. In, there you go. And, out. Very good. Keep it up. Inhale... there we are. And, exhale. You are safe here, Crowley. No one is going to hurt you here. Just keep breathing, in and out…” After a few minutes, the redhead came back to himself, his eyes clear, but wet.

“Sorry about that,” he sniffled. “It happens sometimes, I just--I didn’t expect it to happen with--with you.”

Azi stood slowly, supporting his weight on the edge of the tub. Then, one foot at a time, he stepped out onto the tile floor of the bathroom.

“My dear boy, may I?” held out his hand for Crowley to take. When the redhead reached out, Azi hauled him up, and then steadied him while he got out of the tub. The blond led them to his bedroom, to his bed. Crowley quirked a brow in question, but Azi just shook his head.

So they laid down, facing each other, and the blond gathered the other man into his arms. “I just wanted to hold you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, I just thought this might be nice. I know it helps me to be warm after a panic attack.”

Crowley burrowed his head into the blond’s chest. He mumbled something into his shirt.

“Sorry dear, didn’t catch that.”

The redhead turned his head so he could be heard. “Did I do something wrong? You had such a serious look on your face…” he trailed off, hiding his face again.

“Oh, goodness no! I never meant to give you that impression! I was going to ask you a serious question. Nothing bad, though. A good question. A seriously good question. If you would still like to hear it?” Azi rambled a bit, running his hand through Crowley’s hair. Crowley had given him blanket permission to play with his hair two dates ago, on the condition that he never pull it, and Azi had tried to keep his fingers buried in the crimson locks ever since.

Crowley nodded.

“I wanted to know if you’d like to spend the night. With me. Not tonight!” Azi stated, despite claiming it was a question. The last portion hung in the air, a point of confusion, until Crowley wiggled away just far enough to peer at the blond.

“Why not t’night?”

“Huh? Oh!” Azi shook the cobwebs away. “We’re both baked, dear boy!”

* * *

Crowley nearly cried in relief. Azi was just being his responsible self.

“...We spent the past… however long hotboxing my bathroom. I don’t like to make decisions under the influence. I like to wait until I’m sober, clear-headed.”

Crowley nodded along, not just because he was distracted by how much he adored this ridiculous man, but also because he agreed completely. “Yes, angel. To all of it. I would love to spend the night with you; here or my place, I don’t really care. And yeah, we should talk about it again when we’re sober. Someone, I love--”  _ you’ve only been “dating” for two weeks you arsehole _ “--the way you think, angel.”

“Mmmm… Then tell me what you think of this,” Azi sounded contemplative. “Let’s go raid my take-out menus, order way too much food, and watch a terrible movie.” He gave Crowley a conspiratory grin, and waggled his eyebrows.

* * *

“What does the snake mean?” Crowley asked during his next date with Azi. Today they both had the afternoon off, and were having a picnic in the park. The redhead, having finished eating, laid on his stomach, head pillowed on the blond’s thick thigh. Azi sat, leaning against a tree, nibbling on biscuits, feeding bites to Crowley here and there. The redhead trailed his fingers over Azi’s arm, relishing the close and comfortable contact.

“You’re quite taken with that one, aren’t you?”

“Like I said, ‘Snakes’re misunderstood.’ I like snakes, always have. They’re beautiful, kinda mysterious. They can see things humans can’t, and, how cool would it be to not have any arms and legs?” 

Azi nodded along while Crowley waxed poetic about his favorite animal. “I agree. They’re also a symbol of rebirth and healing. Which is why I have this guy,” the blond wiggled his arm gently, so as not dislodge Crowley’s stroking fingers. “Well, I don’t know that it’s a  _ guy _ . Could be a girl, I suppose.”

Crowley waited. He’d learned that Azi had a tendency to ramble a bit when he was nervous, but if he let the blond talk through it, he would get to the point eventually.

“I got this piece a few years ago. After I broke up with my ex. He was…” the blond trailed off. When Crowley looked up, he was staring into the middle distance, reliving some painful memory.

“Angel, if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. I understand.”

“No, I’m okay. He was toxic; emotionally abusive, manipulative, made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be loved. When I finally managed to give him the boot, I knew I needed a piece of art, somewhere I could look at it all the time, to remember. To remember that I am stronger than that, and that I deserve better.”

“That’s so beautiful,” Crowley sat up, leaning in toward the blond. He raised a hand and stroked across Azi’s cheek. “I can’t wait to show you how much you deserve, angel.” Azi put his hand over Crowley’s holding it in place as their lips met in a soft kiss.

“Thank you, my dear. Now what would you say to having our sleepover tonight?”

* * *

The pair found themselves at Crowley’s flat, legs intertwined as they lay cuddled on the sofa. Azi supported Crowley’s head on his chest, stroking his red locks softly as they watched an episode of Golden Girls.

“You know,” Azi said, “this reminds me of  _ Sex in the City _ .”

“You shut your mouth!” Crowley gasped, scandalised.

“It’s four women, best friends, with different personalities who gossip about romance and their jobs and other life issues with each other. The locales and age groups are just different.”

“ _ Golden Girls _ was first! And groundbreaking! Other shows weren’t talking about the issues they tackled! Sarah Jessica Parker has nothing on Bea Arthur! Take it back, angel!” The redhead crawled up the blond’s body, confronting him with the most pathetic pout he could muster.

Azi rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

“Fine then, if you won’t surrender, I’ll have to  _ make _ you surrender,” Crowley growled, then pounced, absolutely peppering the blond’s face with kisses. Azi giggled as Crowley tried to extract his submission, turning his face back and forth as he wiggled on the sofa. Then the redhead’s lips finally landed on the blond’s mouth. A quick peck, like all the others had been, just in the correct place.

And then another.

And then a longer kiss. More than just a meeting of lips. A meeting of tongues, and heat, and desire. Only when the blond bucked his hips did Crowley remember his original purpose. Azi may be trying to distract him, but the redhead would not be swayed. Peering, half-lidded, into his angel’s face, he whispered, “Say it, angel.”

“Mmmm, no idea what you’re talking about, dear,” Azi retorted, burying his hand back in Crowley’s hair and gently guiding their lips together. 

Building in intensity, Crowley used the movements of his lips and tongue to convey how much he wanted the blond, how much he adored him. Nibbling on the angel’s bottom lip,  _ you’re beautiful.  _ Sliding his tongue along the seam of his lips,  _ thank you for being so open with me.  _ Slipping his tongue inside,  _ I love how warm you are. _

Crowley jolted when Azi grabbed his arse cheeks with both hands, then settled into the touch with a moan. He shifted his hips, grinding his hard cock against the blond’s groin to show his enthusiasm. Feeling Azi’s answering hardness, Crowley grew breathless.

“Bedroom?” Azi suggested, panting. Blotches of pink stained his ivory skin: high on his cheeks, down his neck, his perfectly shaped ears. Crowley nipped at his lobe, then blew gently, cooling Azi’s overheated skin, before whispering in his ear.

“Come with me.”

Then Crowley sprang up off the sofa, offered his hand to pull his angel up and lead him to the bedroom. He sat on the bed, legs spread to accommodate Azi between them. Hands resting on the blond’s hips, heart hammering, he peered into blue eyes and popped the question.

“How far do you wanna go?”

“I’m comfortable with just about anything, my dear boy. Oral, giving or receiving; manual stimulation, giving or receiving; anal sex, giving—“

“Got it, angel.” Crowley had to cut him off. It was far too sexy the way Azi so casually just listed all those sex acts.

“What about you, Crowley? Anything you want? Anything you want me to avoid? That you don’t want to do?”

“Erm, I like oral, but not giving. I’m sorry. It’s a,” Crowley shook the memories away, “a thing. I don’t know if I’m ready for anything penetrative yet. Is that… is that okay?”

“That’s so okay, my dear,” Azi assured him with a slow, tender kiss. He held Crowley’s hands in his own, so soft and caring. “Anything else you’d like?”

“Can I see you?”

The blond answered by bringing Crowley’s hands to his belt, then unbuttoning his shirt. Between their efforts, he was laid bare in seconds, Crowley staring in awe. 

The redhead couldn’t decide where to look. The full thigh… were they still called “sleeves” if they were on your legs? Or the fat uncircumcised cock standing proud from a patch of golden curls, a bead of precome gathering at the tip.

“Can I touch you?” he whispered.

“Of course, my dear. Could I undress you first?”

Crowley could only nod, and scramble to pull his t-shirt off as quickly as possible. He heard the bell-like tinkle of Azi’s laughter and felt his warm fingers on the button of his denims. Once nude, Crowley laid back on the bed, his angel on hands and knees on top of him. 

Crowley trailed his hand down the lightly furred chest in front of him, down, down, until he reached the blond’s cock. He stroked a single finger up the shaft, relishing the way it made Azi’s thighs shake. When Crowley wrapped his hand around his prick, the blond let out an obscene moan. Even more obscene than the time they went for sushi, and Crowley thought he was going to make a very embarrassing stain in his denims.

A slow, gentle stroke. Another moan.

“Fuck, Azi. You’re gonna kill me,” the redhead groaned, head thrown back into the pillow. “We’ve barely started and already you sound like  _ that? _ ”

“Can’t help myself when your touch feels so good, Crowley,” the blond breathed as the redhead stroked him. “Can I touch you as well?”

Crowley could only nod his assent, his throat dry with want. Azi kissed him again, the touch of his lips a bright spark completing the circuit to where his hand explored the redhead’s cock, a well-manicured thumb spreading the bead of moisture at the tip. He arched his back, winding his free hand into white-blond curls to hold Azi as they kissed.

“Lube?” Azi gasped into Crowley’s mouth. The redhead reached into his bedside drawer, slapping the well-used bottle into the blond’s hand. Azi coated his palm and lined up their cocks together in their entwined hands.

Azi’s dick slid against his like silk, heat coursing through his body and bringing him closer to the edge. Crowley couldn’t keep his hips still, thrusting into his and Azi’s combined touch.

“I’m, I’m close,” he panted. Azi nodded, then picked up the pace of his stroking.

“Me too, me too,” the blond rested his forehead against Crowley’s, breaths mingling as they approached their peaks. “Should I get a flannel?”

“Nah, angel. Make a mess of me.” The redhead lay back, hand working in sync with the blond’s. He burned—hellfire consuming him from the inside out. He was so close, he could feel the tug at the base of his spine—

“Fuck!” Azi cried, and Crowley tumbled over the edge, striping their chests just a moment before the blond joined him in ecstasy. Azi rolled to the side, face turned toward Crowley as he regained his breath.

“You’re amazing, Crowley,” he said, blinking slowly at the redhead.

“I—have no words.”

Azi chuckled, nodding in agreement toward the ceiling. Eventually, Crowley came back to himself enough to roll over and find his t-shirt, which they both used to wipe up, before he threw it back on the floor. Then he resumed the same position he had been in on the sofa—lying on top of Azi, head pillowed on his chest, legs tangled together.

Azi traced lines over Crowley’s back with his left hand, while the redhead traced over his serpent.

“I have decided: she’s a girl. And her name is Lucy,” he announced. The blond tilted his head, jarring Crowley into looking up.

“Wot? Okay, yes. I named your tattoo. It’s just… doesn’t she look like a Lucy?” Crowley tone begged the blond not to think he was crazy.

“Oh, she is very much a Lucy—wily serpent, strong and stealthy. A fine name. But I have to ask, dearest. Have you named any of the others?” Azi didn’t laugh at him, just a hint of a smile in his voice—he was amused, but not at Crowley’s expense. This was a game they could play together, and the blond seemed happy to have been invited to play.

“Erm, just Lucy for now. Guess I gotta start lying the other way so I can name all these other ones, eh?” Crowley turned a bit, cocking his head to the right. Face to face now with Azi’s nipple. And piercing.

“Damnit!”

“What’s wrong, Crowley?”

“I forgot to play with your nipples—I mean, to ask if I could. Fuck! But, is that why they’re pierced?”

“There’s always next time, my dear,” Azi laughed, wrapping his arms around the redhead in a bear hug, nipping at his neck as they tumbled headlong into  _ next time _ .


End file.
